


Late have I loved you

by belmanoir



Category: due South
Genre: Church Sex, F/F, background Frannie/Kowalski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stella and Mackenzie have sex in a confessional at Frannie and Kowalski's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late have I loved you

**Author's Note:**

> For meresy's C6D porn tag, for Petra's prompt: "good idea or great idea." The title is from [a poem by St. Augustine](http://thereturncoc.blogspot.com/2007/06/meditation-of-st.html).

Frannie grinned and lobbed her bouquet straight at Stella.

Acting purely on instinct, Stella sidestepped. The bouquet plopped to the floor.

Shit. She looked at Mackenzie. Mackenzie was looking at the bouquet and trying to shove her hands in her pockets, but her dress didn't have any pockets, so Mackenzie crossed her arms over her chest instead. _Shit._ Mackenzie was only wearing the dress--a floaty thing in a bright pattern that didn't fit her quite right--because she was being a good girlfriend and coming to the second wedding-of-one-of-Stella's-ex-husbands in two months. Fraser and Ray hadn't gotten married in a church, so Mackenzie had worn her three-piece suit and looked like a million bucks and there hadn't been any stupid bouquet. Stella had been lulled into a false sense of security. She should have just stayed at her table for the stupid bouquet toss, but everyone had been looking at them and she'd been weak and anyway she hadn't wanted to look like she didn't support gay marriage.

_Well, and it's the second wedding of one of my ex-husbands in two months,_ she thought. _Shouldn't that tell Mackenzie something? If she doesn't like it she can go fuck herself._ Of course, that was how she'd ended up with two ex-husbands. One of these days, if someone didn't like it, Stella was going to have to change. Things were going so good with Mackenzie. Last night, sitting in the living room in an old t-shirt and jeans, going over depositions while Mackenzie wrote an article on her laptop, the two of them focused and quiet and drinking Stella's favorite brand of really nice beer, everything had been perfect.

"C'mon," she said, tugging Mackenzie's hand out from her armpit and dragging her towards a confessional.

"Uh-oh," Ray said under his breath. "Time for a Relationship Talk with the Stella."

"Drop dead, Ray," she muttered, and pulled aside the curtain for Mackenzie.

The last time she'd tried to fit two people in one of these, she and Ray had been necking after youth group, fifteen and thrilled and terrified at their own daring. It was more cramped than she remembered.

Mackenzie tried to put up her hands and whacked Stella on the breast. "Look, it's no big thing," she said, a little too casual and a little too loud. "Twice burned, a million times shy, right?"

"Yes, but that was no reason to embarrass you in front of our friends," Stella said, trying to sound calm and contrite and not like her heart was pounding in her chest. "I don't want to get married again. I got married for all the wrong reasons before. I was afraid to be alone. I wanted to know I was betting on a sure thing."

"We don't have to talk about it," Mackenzie said. "I get it."

"No, listen." There was no room to gesture; Stella held herself very still. "I'm a lawyer, Mackenzie. I should have know there's no sure thing unless someone's throwing the game. I love you, and I want to gamble."

"Don't let the Mountie hear you say that," Mackenzie joked, but her voice was a little shaky. Then her eyes narrowed, and she gave Stella her best investigative-reporter stare. "Are you sweet-talking me?" 

"A little bit," Stella admitted. "But I'm also telling you the truth."

Mackenzie let out her breath in a _whuff_ and leaned against the back of the confessional. "Okay, then," she said. "I can do that. I was looking forward to all those free gravy boats and waffle irons, though."

Relief and love washed over Stella. "This is weird," she said. "I used to feel this way after confession. Light and new." She sighed. "Then I'd fuck up another week."

Mackenzie smirked at her. "I always kind of wanted to do it in one of these. Being Catholic seemed really glamorous and sexy when I was a kid."

Stella snorted. "Yeah. Maybe if the nuns weren't all over sixty and meaner than a rattlesnake."

Mackenzie just kept smirking. "Come on, they all think we're having a Serious Talk. Getting in a little nooky: good idea or great idea?"

And just like that it was back, that feeling from when she was fifteen. She and Mackenzie were in a confessional, they were living in lesbian sin, there was a curtain separating them from a hundred people two of whom were Stella's former mothers-in-law, and she was thrilled and terrified and crazy, crazy in love. 

She eased her purse off and set it on the seat, and then she laid her hand flat next to it, picked up her dress with her other hand, and lowered herself to her knees as quietly as she could. The confessional was dusty, but no one would see the knees of her pantyhose anyway. Mackenzie's eyes widened and her mouth went O-shaped. "Pull up your skirt," Stella whispered. "And close the grate." Mackenzie reached over Stella's head and shut the little window into the next compartment. 

It took a second before the two of them could get Mackenzie's dress out of the space between them, and then Stella was face to face with Mackenzie's legs (shaved for the wedding) and her stomach and hips and her white cotton bikini-cut underwear. She leaned forward and kissed Mackenzie's inner thighs, once on each side. Then she hooked her fingers in the waistband of her underwear and pulled it down. 

Mackenzie gasped and tried to spread her legs wider, her heels scraping on the floor. Mackenzie wasn't that great with heels; Stella put her hands on her hips to steady her. Then she spread Mackenzie's cunt open, fingers tangling in Mackenzie's blond hair, and looked. 

"Hurry up!" Mackenzie hissed. "Someone could pull aside that curtain any second! We're in a church!"

"If they don't like it, they can go fuck themselves," Stella hissed back, but she leaned in and licked Mackenzie's clit.

Mackenzie bucked, just a little, her thighs tense under Stella's forearms with trying to stay still. Stella wrapped her lips around Mackenzie's clit and licked again, and again. She could hear Mackenzie breathing, ragged and soft and whining a little in the back of her throat. Stella took a deep breath, her nipples tingling inside her best strapless bra.

"I want to touch you but I don't want to mess up your hair," Mackenzie said softly, laughing low and breathless, and pressed her hands against the wall of the confessional. Stella's knees hurt and her feet were bent at an uncomfortable angle. But--she'd left the power and the glory of church behind her a long time ago; the sacrilege of the confessional wasn't much more than a twinge. But the power and glory of _this_ , of Mackenzie in her nose and mouth, musky and warm, of Mackenzie's thighs trembling against her arms--Mackenzie came with a whimper, almost slipping on her heels-- _this_ was just getting better.

"I bet I find lipstick in my underwear again," Mackenzie whispered, and Stella felt like the Heavens had opened and a choir of angels had sung a Hosanna.


End file.
